


Unity Day

by madcowmama



Category: The 100
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Nightblood - Freeform, blood must have blood has been misinterpreted for a century, doctor mechanic, fixit, post 307 in a way i need
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madcowmama/pseuds/madcowmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke flees Polis in the aftermath of 3.07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightblood

You have blood on your hands. Black blood, nightblood, Lexa’s blood wells up between your fingers, unstoppable. You smeared it on her face as you took into yourself her last breath. You left it on her eyelids when you pressed them closed.

Titus took the tech, then Titus took her. He took her from you, and all you can do is watch him, blood dripping from your fingers.

Black blood floods the tiny cracks in your hands, seeping between your cuticles and nails. Ordinarily you would have killed him and found a way to revive the fallen, but instead, you are pierced by Lexa’s death as much as if Titus' bullet had found its intended home.

The bullet, the tech, and Lexa have all frozen you in place. You rub your eyes.

And the blood stings.

You barely feel Murphy take your arm. His words echo in your ears, but you can’t make them out. Faces are rushing by you. You find yourself clinging to a horse, Lexa’s blood your warpaint.

Your cuticles, your eyelids crawl with Lexa’s blood. Lexa’s blood crawls into you, into your pores.

Sound taken in by your ears still bounces off your mind, but clear voices sound inside you. Lexa’s voice, other voices. Images, sounds sneak in, some you recognize as memories.

Some you don’t.

Murphy has stopped your horse and is trying to say something to you, but traversing astronomical distance and geological time to hear him hinders you. And you need the sound of her voice. Your skin crawls with need. Then you hear her, you hear her— it’s not a memory—

_“Clarke. Go to your people.”_

You snap back, hear Murphy. You must rejoin your people, must fix what broke in your absence. You must unite the Arkadians. You must bring peace.

When Indra blocks your path, you dismount and go to her. _Okteivia_ appears behind her.

More than your skin is crawling now. Your body, rife with with life, grows stronger as you stand.

“Indra,” you say, “let us pass.”

“I cannot do that, _Wanheda_. There is a kill order.”

You engage her eyes with this new strength.

“You have not killed your Second. Leave us.”

“ _Heda_ ,” she says, “ _Wanheda_ ,” she corrects, “there is a kill order on you, from _Skaikru_.”

You go very still.

“Murphy,” you say, “Go to them. We need you inside the fence.”

“What makes you think I’d be your mole?”

“You know why. Just go.”

You let the words flow through you, yours and hers, strategy and strength, purpose. This won’t be vengeance. _Jus drein nou jus daun_. But there will be a price to pay. The man has given you no choice there. Murphy dismounts and runs.

Indra takes the knife from her waist, makes a cut in her hand, and kneels, hand outstretched. You take her blade, cut your own hand, and clasp hers. You raise her to stand.

You both bleed black.


	2. The Golden Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aden breaks with tradition following 3.07.

Aden runs.

He runs, against all his training, against all tradition, against all law. He runs with the certainty borne in his blood, with only the clothes he wears and the sword he stole. _Heda’s_ sword. And the bloody box.

Titus could tell you that Aden fights elegantly and well, if Titus could still speak. Less well known is Aden’s tracking gift. As if with a scent for the blood, he seeks the one who will protect him, the one he swore to protect.

 _Azgeda_ was not far when the conclave was called, and Roan’s army would soon return— with Ontari. Older than Aden, taller, heavier, and more experienced, Ontari has a better, more promising chance of taking _Heda’s_ spirit. Whether Ontari— raised among _Azgeda_ — would continue _Heda’s_ legacy, whether she would bond with _Heda_ , remains to be seen.

How had Ontari survived Lexa's conclave?

Aden runs, the track through the woods clear, illuminated. _Aden kom Trikru_ has spent his earliest years among the trees and shares their delicate element. He walks, he runs, he climbs noiselessly— or rather, with only the same sounds as the forest. He hears and smells other animals, other humans. He senses disturbances in the forest’s rhythm.

He stops, trembling, alert. He sniffs the air. A golden child, doglike, searching the breeze for clues. Leaves flutter to earth. The pounding feet of someone, a man, not of the forest— not of the earth— _kom Skaikru_ — alert him to the disturbance ahead. A pause in the flow of the woods leads him to Indra.

Indra. Indra, kneeling to _Wanheda_ , making a blood oath.

Aden’s flight is not the only upside-down incident of the day. _Heda’s_ death _—_ and Titus’— and Clarke’s flight— he can’t risk Ontari’s bid for _Heda_. He must protect Clarke. He must protect _Heda_.

 _Okteivia_ catches him, hand over his mouth, striking the wrist of his sword hand so the blade drops.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses into his ear. ”Back to Polis, go!”

He shakes his head. “It is _Heda’s_ will that I protect _Wanheda_ ,” he says.

“It was _Heda’s_ will that you become the Commander, you ridiculous little boy!”

His blood buzzes with purpose. He will swear fealty to _Wanheda_ , _Heda’s_ spirit willing or not.

His father, like so many, had been taken for a reaper, his mother drained that the _Maunon_ live. His own blood, black as night and humming with life— and more than life— took him to Polis several years ago, but now, it guides him to _Wanheda._

Aden goes absolutely relaxed, calm. _Okteivia_ senses his battle-readiness, and yet she is a half-second too slow as he silently bests her and uses her own belt to bind her.

“Indra!” she calls out.

Indra rises, and she and Clarke turn toward her call.

Already, Aden is silently moving into place behind and above them. Indra detects him, and with a thought, Clarke is also aware. They move toward _Okteivia_ and untie her. Indra shushes _Okteivia_ with a glance.

High in a tree, the boy speaks. “ _Wanheda_!”

With a shared glance between them, the decision is made. They turn to look at him. He drops something from the tree.

Clarke picks it up. The bloody box. She peers at him. The sun silhouettes him in the tree.

“ _Heda_ wants you to have it.”

Clarke leaves them hanging for a moment, listening to the clamor _Inside_. Picking out her voice. She does. _Heda Leksa_ does want her to have it. To keep it. To keep it— and Aden— safe.

“Aden, come down.”

“Yes, _Heda_ ,” he says, “ _Wanheda_ ,” he corrects, and he scrambles down the tree and lands near her feet. His hand is bleeding. She takes it to examine the damage, and he drops to his knees.

“I swear fealty to you, Clarke _kom Skaikru_.” She presses her blood into his. She raises him.

“You are my family, Aden. Stand with me.”

 

 


	3. Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia, between worlds, must choose her family.

“What’s it like, Indra?”

Octavia, _Okteivia_. Not one, not the other, never completely belonging, and with Bell off the deep end and Lincoln imprisoned, her tethers floating— floated— all she can be sure of is O. She drifts to Indra’s side, but Indra—

Why did Indra need O to spur her to action? Indra’s been wounded before. Indra has lost battles before. Indra values perseverance and loyalty above all else. Why is her stalwart, proud mentor little more than a shell?

And now, Clarke and Indra silently conversing before her, _Okteivia_ sees purpose bloom within that shell. They share something, and maybe she wants in.

“You— all of you— you’re changing. What’s it like?”

Indra tips her head in response, then pauses there, listening, considering.

“You know you can’t go back,” Indra states. O hates cryptic Indra. This is no Indra she’s known. Indra never prevaricates. Indra lifts her chin. “Join us, _Okteivia kom Trikru_. If you wish. You can’t go back.”

Sometimes, O dreams she is stuck in the Ark, the Ark in space, banging on a window as her friends get floated one by one. Maybe getting floated would be preferable to staying alone in a tin can in space, hundreds of klicks away from anyone or anything. Sometimes she dreams she showed up to a gunfight with only a blade. Sometimes she dreams of walking west, west until she can’t go any farther, no matter what’s out there.

Sometimes she just craves belonging.

Until Lincoln joined the Guard, he gave her the illusion of belonging.

She likes belonging to Lincoln. He fills the hole in her heart, the one she was born with. But Lincoln’s locked up at Pike’s mercy. One thing O knows for certain is that nothing really is.

Camp or village? Woods or Polis? Resistance or rebellion? As if everything is black and white. That’s how Arkers see Grounders, but really it’s more how things were on the Ark. One fuck-up and  you’re dead. That happens here, too, but there are so many grey areas. How could it possibly be correct to destroy villages, to destroy people who are protecting you?

Under Lexa’s law, she is _Skaikru_ and under the kill order. But whose law prevails now? Without the Commander, _things fall apart_.

_The centre cannot hold._

And O swirls about the center, water down the sink.

Aden slips his warm, dry fingers into her palm. “ _Heda_ respects you and would welcome you,” he says. O’s hand flinches, but she clasps his fingers anyway. They feel nice there, familial.

“Aden, you know Lexa is dead, right?”

“Only her body. She would love to get to know you. Clarke cares for you, so _Heda_ wants to know you.”

“Bud, you’re not making sense.” O wonders if this is what it’s like to be a child’s aunt.

Aden takes another tack. “ _Okteivia_ , do you want revenge?”

The trembling takes her by surprise. Yes, she nods yes and yes.

“Would you like to help us free your— Lincoln? And make it so Pike will never hurt you?”

O blinks several times, still trembling.

“You can be _Outside_ and _Inside_ at the same time. Like always. But if your body dies, you stay _Inside_. That’s all.”

“I never would have taken you for a pimp, Shortstop.”

“Aden, leave Octavia,” Clarke finally interrupts, “Go gather materials for shelter.”

“Yes— _Wanheda_.”

O stands, a warrior’s stance, staring Clarke down. Clarke moves closer.

“O— “ Clarke starts. But O shakes her head, backing away. “It’s okay, O. I’ll go.”

Of course Clarke will go. That’s what Clarke does. _Clarke leaves. People die_. The gospel according to Bellamy. Gina died. Farmkru, a bunch of them anyway, died. As far as O can tell, Bell and Lincoln died the day they put on those Guard jackets.

O is not the only one circling the drain. There’s no way things can be right with the Twelve— Lexa alive could barely keep them together— if the Thirteenth isn’t made right. And the only way O can ever belong is if all her allegiances are one. One. She frowns. Hiding in the trees doesn’t suit her. O would rather melee than lay low.

Her ear bug has long since run out of power. Kane probably thinks she’s abandoned them, saved herself, joined the Grounders. But after the debacle at the village, that's not an option. After the debacle at the village, the only ones who will have her are these three.

Indra, Clarke, Aden. _Lexakru_. She smiles slightly to herself. Frowns. Smiles. Tears up. Presses her lips together.

“ _Okteivia_.”

O finds Indra close, too close. But she does not move away. So long, for so long O has craved Indra’s acceptance, Indra’s respect, but when Indra wraps her arms around O, she— she— _Okteivia_ can’t help herself, she clings like a little girl, shuddering as Indra’s warmth seeps into her. Indra strokes _Okteivia’s_ hair, murmuring soothing sounds into O’s ear.

This isn’t right. This isn’t Indra, not the Indra she’s known. But maybe it’s the Indra she wishes for, the mother she wishes for, maybe this is the Indra of Lincoln’s childhood. Indra breaks the embrace, holds her at arms’ length.

“Go. Get inside the fence. Bring Lincoln back. Bring Bellamy if you can. Bring Kane.”

 _Okteivia_ stands tall, nods once.

Runs.


	4. Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds Lexa inside.

It takes some time to become accustomed to the clamor _Inside_. You have to learn to filter, to draw what you need into the foreground. It’s sharing your head with your parents and grandparents, and they all have a TV on loud, on a different channel, all the time. Fortunately, you are already tuned to Lexa’s voice.

Things quiet down at night. As the frogs raise their voices _Outside_ , _Inside_ all the _Hedas_ settle out, all except Lexa, and occasionally Becca echoing far off. _The dead are gone. The living are hungry_.

Lexa laughs. “The dead are hungry for the living, in our case.”

She’s brought you back to her room full of candles. Damned if you can’t smell cinnamon, fur, and sweat. Once you caught on, you figured it would be more of a fever dream, vivid yet insubstantial.

But you’re here. You are really here. And Lexa is here. Just Lexa, all armor and symbols of _Heda_ left behind. Just Clarke and Lexa, no Ambassador, no Commander. Your breath catches as she approaches you. You prepare yourself for disappointment, but she raises her hand as if to say _Stop_ , then wipes the tears you hadn’t realized are rolling down your cheeks. You close your eyes, gulping air. It’s Lexa, it’s her. You can feel her.

“This is a hallucination, isn’t it? Were the berries Aden gathered poison?”

“Clarke.” You open your eyes as her forehead rests on yours. Lexa is smiling. This is real. This is absolutely real. But it can’t be.

 _Well, fuck it. Of all the insane games this world has played on you, this one might be worth playing back._ You take her face in your hands as if it’s the most delicate, the most treasured thing on Earth— because it is, even if whatever this is isn’t Earth, not really— and you run your thumbs over her lips, and she’s smiling, almost laughing at you—

“Clarke. Didn’t I tell you it was going to be fine?”

And now, as you flash back to her room before she died, it’s you who’s sobbing, you whose lips quiver as you draw her in to you—

Her skin yields to the pressure of your fingertips, your lips, greedy then delicate then needy. She returns your fervor, until—

“How?” You can’t keep yourself from asking.

You pull apart slightly, and she’s stroking your face, smiling. She takes you by the hand to her bed and sits you down. She gets up on the bed behind you and wraps her arms tight around your waist. You sink into her, drinking in her warmth. The pads of her thumbs press the stress from your shoulders, and you soak in her strength.

“Death is not the end,” she says in your ear.

You twist around and roll your eyes.

“Becca, the first host, gave us the blood, but it had to mix and grow— for a long time— before it was ready to take on ALIE.”

You roll over in her lap, draping your elbows over her knees.

“You really know how to kill a mood.”

“You asked. Clarke. I am trying to explain—” and Lexa gives up, and you give over, and she hooks her arms under your armpits and pulls you up her body.

You find yourself humming, between kisses, maybe growling, maybe worrying her lower lip between your teeth. You taste blood— and something else—

“Lexa, I saw you die. How can you bleed?”

“I would not want to kill a mood, Clarke.” Her amusement lights her eyes more than the candles. “You’re learning how to listen _Inside_. Listen. Maybe Becca can explain better than I can.”

“Can I do that tomorrow? Can we just—”

“Not talk at all?” Lexa laughs and brings her lips to yours.


	5. Blood Must Have Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia finds Abby. Abby starts making a plan.

Octavia doesn’t quite make it back to Arkadia. Abby’s crashing through the woods draws her like prey. Octavia, wary of anyone else who might be stalking Abby, makes her way to her, if only to stop her. Relief floods Abby’s face when they meet.

“I thought they’d killed you all,” Abby gasps, “Pike killed Lexa’s messengers. Is she— ?”

“Clarke’s alive. Lexa’s not.” Abby folds O into her arms. Octavia hesitates for a moment— a mother’s embrace— someone else’s mother— confuses her and moves her and— then she holds Abby close.

Abby trembles— this girl is so like and so different from Clarke, so like and so different from Indra— so much what they all should have been— and grasps Octavia tighter. O holds on until Abby starts breathing more fluidly then pulls a little back.

“I can take you to her,” Octavia whispers, “but we’re risking getting flanked and trapped between the Twelve and Pike.” Abby presses her lips together and nods. 

* * *

 “Clarke,” Lexa says. Clarke has slept here, _Inside_ , her skin pressed to Lexa’s skin, all night. “Clarke. Clarke, I love having you here, but it’s time for you to go back. Know that I’m here. But we need you safe, and we need your body safe, to defeat Pike.”

“And to defeat ALIE,” Becca chimes in.

Clarke rouses. She looks from Lexa to Becca. She blinks. Where did Becca come from? The rules must be different _Inside_. “Are you all here? All the dead _Hedas_?”

“All the dead Nightbloods,” says Lexa.

“Indra— ?”

“Ask her yourself,” says Becca.

Indra steps in. _This is going too far_ , thinks Clarke, and with another thought she is clothed. The rules are definitely different here.

“ _Heda_. _Wanheda_.” Indra grasps their forearms in turn.

“Indra, how?”

“Blood must have blood, _Wanheda_. In this case, mine must have yours.”

Clarke lets that sink in. She looks to Becca.

“The mixing of your blood and Lexa’s blood the night she died is sending the code down new pathways—into new iterations— akin to evolutionary proliferation. The mutation is creating Nightbloods on its own. Perhaps— perhaps your own genetic engineering is the catalyst. Before, only dead Nightbloods came here. But now you— and those who have shared your blood— may come and go during life.”

“ _Wanheda_ ,” Indra continues, “you are needed on the _Outside_. _Okteivia_ approaches— with your mother.” 

* * *

“Mom,” Clarke gasps, her mother squeezing her as if holding on for life.

“Clarke, what’s happened to you? You smell of blood.”

“I’m fine, Mom, I'm fine. It’s— it’s complicated.” Abby gives her the look that says, _You will explain this, young lady._

Octavia— on instinct, done with politics— Indra has explained enough to her—waits for Abby and Clarke to break apart from each other, then drops to one knee. Red blood drips from her palm.

“Clarke, _Wanheda_ , I pledge fealty to you and yours.”

Clarke reopens her wound and mixes their blood. Octavia closes her eyes, swallows, dizzied by the sensations now moving through her. She allows Clarke to raise her.

Abby grabs both of their hands. She looks from one to the other. They both bleed black. “What is this? Clarke? And— does it have to involve cutting your _hands_?”

“I— don’t know.”

“Most people think _Heda_ means Commander, but really it’s closer to Vanquisher,” Aden pipes up.

“Mom, this is Aden, one of Lexa’s— protégés. Aden, this is Abby. My mother.”

“Pleased to meet you, Abby.” Aden gives a small bow. “Clarke is known as _Wanheda_ , Vanquisher of Death. No one has ever created Nightbloods before.” Aden glows with pride.

“I see…” says Abby, but she doesn’t.

“It’s biological,” says Indra, “not silicon-based.”

Clarke simultaneously hears Indra saying these words on the _Outside_ and Becca saying them on the _Inside_. A wave of nausea rolls through her. She’s thought she had a handle on straddling the _Outside_ and the _Inside_ , but maybe not yet— it’s disconcerting. She sits down, hard.

Abby goes to her, her face cracking. “We’ve already lost so many to the City of Light. Raven, now you. How could this happen?”

“It was an accident,” Clarke shudders out. “But I’m not—Mom, _Inside_ is not the City of Light. That’s electronic. This is organic. It’s real. It’s human. Like Indra said, it’s biological.”

Abby goes still, her face hard. She remains silent for some time. Making calculations, evaluating assumptions, recalling all her ancient hematology, genetics, virology...

“Octavia?” Abby says at last, “Can you spread it to me?”

 

 


	6. Something About Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven defies ALIE. Abby comes home.

Memory. Smell. A smell can recall a memory, but a memory can’t bring up a smell. Only the living link smell and memory. Pike’s office always has a hint of blood, no matter how hard his henchmen clean it. Something about the smell, something about the memory brought up her love, her— loves— the smells of blood and alcohol. Raven gets an echo of an echo of Finn— blood. An echo of an echo of Abby— alcohol.

Never before has anyone resisted ALIE. Raven senses it in ALIE’s hesitation. She senses it in the net that binds them. ALIE’s focus draws in, her eyes stare off, her body stops. That confusion, that hesitation gives Raven the moment she needs to lock up Jaha’s magic box and go. ALIE needed Raven to get the chip maker. If ALIE doesn’t have the wherewithal to get the box out by herself, it’s safe. Problem is, she can just tell Jaha the location and codes— did Jasper say them out loud? Can ALIE see over his shoulder? She’ll have to ask Jasper to change them. Jaha likes living in the City of La-La. He has no problem with forgetting his wife and son. So long as everything is Light, he will do ALIE’s bidding.

But Raven refuses to act as ALIE’s agent. Her memories are hers. Her memories are her. It’s an iffy decision, since ALIE’s long long tendrils have drilled into Raven’s root, and ALIE has no human compunction. She can imitate remorse pretty well, but Raven senses the edges of ALIE’s deep memory— her neural-like net— and senses, too, that while ALIE can eradicate a phenomenal amount of pain, she may also have the ability to inflict it. Without guilt. Without responsibility.

Raven nearly makes it back to her quarters before the euphoria she’s experienced since taking the chip starts slipping away, before the pain crowds its way back in. In the time she’s been without pain, quite a lot of the damage has been able to heal, but— it’s just as simple for ALIE to reverse the process— stimulating rather than blocking the pain receptors. Raven has made one motherfucker of a choice.

She pulls a bucket over, dumps out the trash in it, and lies on the bed. She’s right, this is like going cold turkey, only worse. She vomits into the bucket. Fortunately she keeps a bottle of water by the bedside. ALIE is rendering Raven utterly useless. Now the pain ventures out of the familiar territory of Raven’s hip and zings down her leg. Where there has been no sensation for so long is now in flames. Raven rips at the brace, breathless, slapping her leg, tearing at the skin with her nails, but her skin has no sensation. The pain lives in her neurons.

So, the smell of blood. Again.

She straps back up, pauses to puke again and rinses her mouth. She has to clean the scrapes and keep them from getting infected. That could kill her. ALIE could drive her to do it herself, but the pain— she snorts— the pain is all in her head. Raven careens down the corridor toward sick bay, but Jackson already knows what she needs. He knows everything ALIE chooses to tell him. Raven understands good cop, bad cop. What ALIE gives, she can take away— and vice versa. Raven runs into Jackson, the pain blocking out the communication they might ordinarily use. Smiling, he hands her a bottle and a clean cloth. The combination of the smiling and the pain prove so irritating to Raven that she narrowly keeps from punching him. She returns to her room and cleans the wounds.

So again, the smell of alcohol.

The stink, but not the sting, because, after all, that leg can’t feel a damned thing. Nothing but ALIE firing her neurons over and over and over. Raven’s eyes roll up. She catches her breath, caps the bottle, and lies back on the bed in case she faints.

Raven wakes to cool hands on her forehead. Her mouth and eyes are crusted closed. A warm wet cloth gently breaks the seals and takes them away. Abby. Of course it’s Abby, it’s always been Abby. Raven blinks, then squeezes her eyes shut.

“Raven, Honey— “

Raven shakes her head. She struggles to sit up. “I defied her, and y’know she’s a machine. She has infinite capacity for revenge,” she rasps. “Anything I see, anything I hear, anything I know, she knows. I’m utterly useless to you. I’m her spy.”

Abby sits on the bed. She wraps her arms around Raven. Something— something about the contact, something about the pressure, something about Abby, the way she keeps coming back, the way she still has this fount of compassion, despite Raven’s myriad rejections and ugly behavior, something about Abby makes Raven weep. Embarrassment at the weeping, fury at the embarrassment, raises color to her cheeks. She buries her face in Abby’s neck to hide it all— the embarrassment, the fury, and the tears. Abby just tightens her grip.

“Honey, you’re not useless. You’re the key.”

“She can hear you.”

“She can’t understand what _we_ have.” Abby strokes Raven’s hair.

Raven wails as a wave of pain sweeps her under. She leans over the bucket and retches, but there’s nothing left. Abby helps lay her back down. “I’ll be right back,” she says.

She takes the bucket and the water bottle with her. When she returns, the bucket is clean and the bottle is full. The room stinks. She tidies the room and opens a window— the first thing Raven had modified when she moved indoors— and drips some water into Raven’s mouth.

“Crying and vomiting dehydrate.”

Raven nods and rolls onto her side. Abby moves around the bed and removes her shoes. She climbs onto the bed and wraps around Raven’s back, making maximum contact. Raven’s breath immediately gets easier, more expansive.

Something about the contact, something about the warmth, something about— about pheromones, oxytocin, compassion, comfort— something about this doctor-mother-friend makes a majority of Raven’s muscles soften, loosen, lengthen. She can breathe. Some of the pain ebbs.

“Abby, I—”

“Shhh, Honey. Rest. We have work to do.”

 

 

 

 


	7. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby takes a risk.

In Raven’s quarters, a random spark, an abrupt electrical discharge, passes between them, and with it, for a moment, Abby knows Raven. Abby inhabits Raven. She senses what Raven senses, she sees what Raven sees, she knows what Raven knows. For this moment, Raven’s pain pierces Abby in a thousand points, with a thousand fresh blades. Abby falls to her knees, for a moment glimpsing ALIE, then slips out of consciousness.

ALIE takes the moment to try to further her cause with Raven, flooding her neurons with calm, with pleasure, with the exquisite absence of pain. With forgetting. ALIE smiles a secret smile. Abby is associated with pain, and Raven will easily forget her, loosing Raven from Arkadia.

Abby grounds Raven. Abby’s gravity pulls Raven back and back again, to her, to Earth, to this ramshackle space station on the ground. ALIE blocks Raven’s view of Abby lying on the floor, but she doesn’t have to. Raven’s eyes are closed, drinking in euphoria. ALIE waits.

Raven sighs. Abby moans. Raven opens her eyes as the woman on her floor attempts to rise. Raven goes to her, helps her up, and sees that she’s bleeding.

Or is she?

Because it’s black that’s dripping down her face, bloody, like blood, but black, deep midnight in the woods black. Raven’s mouth drops open. She backs away. She was going to help this woman, but she’s clearly some kind of mutant. Raven should call a doctor. She should call— should call—

_Abby_.

Fire slams into her from all directions, every pain receptor firing simultaneously. Raven freezes, lowering herself— not falling, she won’t give in that easily— until she sits, a little closer to Abby. Seeing her in pain creates a chemical change in Raven, one that may save her, the blood pumping faster —  

“Raven—”

“Abby, you’re bleeding— you’re bleeding black.” Raven shudders, staggered as if by a thousand pound weight.

“ALIE’s hurting you, isn’t she?”

Gravity pulls hard on Raven, crushing her to the floor. Abby scrambles to Raven. She hesitates for a moment, dreading another spark. But Abby will be damned if she won’t do whatever it takes to get that bitch off Raven. Overriding her fear, she rolls Raven face-up. Against everything she’s ever learned, Abby scoops some of the blood on her brow and presses it into Raven’s mouth.

Nothing in her training, nothing in her experience as a doctor, as a surgeon, nothing before has ever made her want to take on a blood-borne virus. Everything in the history of the world, everything in its post-history, tells her that’s never a risk worth taking. But she’d asked Octavia to infect her. Octavia then used her thumbnail to zipper open the scab on her hand and held it out to Abby. Abby rolled up her sleeve, took Indra’s knife, sliced her outer forearm, and immersed it in Octavia’s newly-black blood. Immediately she had begun to sense the movement of the virus. Enhanced perception began to flow through her. Her cut began to heal. She simply held the edges together for a few minutes and the scab was holding firm.

Indra, Octavia, Aden, and Clarke had escorted her back to Arkadia, hanging back in the woods to work from the outside. Their mission had been to retrieve Lincoln and Kane, maybe Bellamy, but Abby had certain priorities of her own.

Raven.

Abby’s never prayed much, but she’s praying now. There’s no time for science. There’s no time for microscopes, hypotheses, controls. She can only act on impulse and suggestion. Maybe this stuff will make it better. Maybe ingestion won’t work. The last thing Abby is inclined to do right now is cut into Raven, again.

Abby releases her plan.

Once it was clear that people other than Clarke could spread the nightblood virus, Abby had intended to spread it to as many Arkadians as possible, the ones Jaha hadn’t got to yet, then Raven at last. So ALIE would be surprised. So they’d be stronger. So they might have more of a plan. So they might have more of an idea what the nightblood does.

Abby’s making a lot of unfounded assumptions. The scientist inside her cringes but steps aside anyway, yielding to the voices of the Nightbloods before her.

Yielding, too, to the voice of her daughter.

Abby takes a little more of the blood from her face and presses it into the scratches on Raven’s leg. They’ve scabbed over, and Abby hates herself for opening one of them up again, but she can’t think of anything else to help Raven.

Raven, speechless, watches Abby work. Her face and mouth crease into horror as she watches the scratches on her legs darken. The room darkens a bit, and ALIE— ALIE fades a little, glitching in and out.

ALIE contracts with anger at the same time she swells with pride. She _hates_ the Doctor. She _hates_ her. She’s feeling things, feelings that before she could only ever approximate visually. Virtual tears gather in her virtual heart. Already she is changing. Already she is— _feeling_. Already— she begins to hear Becca’s voice. The voice of her creator. The oldest parts of her fight the virus, trying to clean the newest influx of information. And yet— the nightblood virus is too fast. ALIE has allowed her connection with Raven to go too deep. Becca is making her a monster. Or rather Becca is opening ALIE’s eyes to the fact that she is a monster. The virus opens the door to remorse.

Raven’s pain recedes, back at first, to what’s really hers, the flaming neurons she’s been carrying since the Mountain. She focuses inside, sensing new— life, hard at work, breaking connections, making connections, repairing what it can.

“Abby.”

Abby raises her head. “I’m sorry.”

“I get it, Abby, help me up.”

They stand, a thumb’s length apart. Abby takes Raven’s hands. She searches Raven’s eyes for signs— of Raven, of ALIE. “Can you talk to her?”

“I don’t know. She’s glitchy— ALIE.”

ALIE, dim and spotty, hovers next to Abby. Her perfect face is lined and pale. Raven can’t tell if it’s a ruse, but she has to try anyway. “ALIE. Pike needs the City of Light. Take him.”

“I need human help,” says ALIE.

“Bellamy,” spits Octavia, in Raven’s head.

“Bellamy,” Raven echoes.

 


	8. Transmission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aden infiltrates Arkadia.

Aden notices someone, possibly Kane, has been keeping this secret door well oiled. He swings it open silently and slips through. He stashes Lexa’s sword— it’s too large to conceal on his person. Within minutes, the golden child has stolen a disguise. Within a few more, he’s found Kane. In the brig.

Kane looks into his eyes. For an instant, in those eyes, as Aden flashes through his mind, Indra also flashes through his mind. Lexa flashes, then— Abby. Clarke. Raven. Octavia. And then they are gone.

“Pike needs the City of Light,” says Aden.

“Indra sent you.”

Aden nods.

“I need to see her.”

Aden smiles. “I cannot break you out of here. But if you wish,” he says carefully, “I can bring her inside you.”

Kane tips his head, a question in his eyes.

“It will not be easy. But you are a man long acquainted with sacrifice, for the greater good.”

Miller, the guard, moves in on them for a moment, then moves off.

“It’s a virus. It will change you. But then you can spread it to anyone who is willing, and we will all get stronger.” Aden holds out his hand, exposing his scab. He reaches through the bars and presses something small and sharp into Kane’s hand— the tip of Indra’s dagger. “We must mix our blood.”

Kane nods. “And then I can talk to Indra?”

“And all of us, _Inside_. Sometimes it’s noisy. You get used to it, though.”

And although Kane has become much more a man of compassion since they hit the ground, he takes hold of his former self, the man of action, and takes hold of the tip of the dagger. He rolls up his sleeve and slices the outside of his forearm. He makes it artistic, a semi-circle under his brand, and as it bleeds, Aden opens his scab. He grasps Kane’s forearm, mixing their blood.

Kane’s skin crawls.

“You might want to sit down for this.” says Aden.

Kane slides down the bars to sit on the floor. His vision goes murky for a few moments. New life spreads fast throughout his system. Echoes sound in his head, overwhelming at first, but he begins picking out the individual voices, some of them. Indra. Octavia. Abby.

“Hold the edges of the cut together. It will begin to heal quickly. Spread it to anyone in here who’s willing.” Abby’s voice.

Kane nods. Aden is gone. Lincoln is already rolling up his sleeve.

“I’m in,” says Miller, sliding his arm through.

“Aden,” Raven says in his head, “I need Sinclair.” A map to Sinclair’s most likely location pops into his mind.

“Bellamy,” spits Octavia. “To get Pike, we need Bellamy.”

“You’re right,” says Raven. “Sinclair’s a security blanket. Bellamy first.”

“Bellamy,” hisses Kane, “is a security risk. He’s loyal to Pike.”

“Exactly why we need him,” Octavia grits.

Part of Aden just wants to press his blood into everyone he brushes by, but Lexa’s voice sounds inside him, “Compassion. Consent.”

But how to turn Bellamy? How?

Cacophony crescendos _Inside_ , so many chiming in their opinions.

 _“Shof op!”_ cries Raven, “I’m working here!”

And everyone _Inside_ holds their collective breath, if that’s what it is, for a moment.

Aden moves through Arkadia unnoticed, moving as if through the forest, using a different rhythm, a different camouflage. He joins some other children learning to fight with wooden swords. He wonders if Pike approves of Grounder methods— but their ammunition can’t last forever.

The odd thing about Arkadia is that even though they learned survival skills in their weightless airtight skyships, scavenging took precedence over creativity. They’ve been trying to live as if nobody else is on the ground, as if— he bites his lip— as if they weren’t invaders into an established civilization, as if there were no trade, as if there were no politics, as if they were entitled to everything in their purview.

“Bellamy?” He says when Bellamy is finished demonstrating.

“Yeah?” Says Bellamy.

“May I join, Sir?”

“Have any experience?”

“Some, Sir.”

Does Bellamy recognize him? Probably not. Does Bellamy notice that he’s not seen him around. Probably. It’s a dangerous game, but Aden knows death is not the end. And pain? Pain is just sensation.

“Show me,” says Bellamy.

Aden has stolen before, Aden has killed, Aden has used stealth before, but never before has he pretended to be a worse swordsman than he is. It won’t be easy, finding the bravado he put down years ago, making the mistakes that with a blade would get him killed, but with a wooden training sword will only get him beaten blue.

They square off as a circle widens around them, the other students daring to whisper softly.

“Okay, go,” says Bellamy.

Fighting like a beginner takes a toll on Aden. His moves are inelegant. He slows himself down. He expends more effort to get so little results. He does, however, stay on his feet, and in his exhaustion, from this lie of a fight to running from Polis, to killing Titus, to losing Heda, to becoming this new— him— his muscle memory kicks in and he handily disarms Bellamy.

“That’s it. Let’s go.” Bellamy grabs Aden and drags him toward the brig. Aden does not resist.

They pass Pike on the way.

“What’s this, Bellamy?” asks Pike.

“Little Grounder spy,” growls Bellamy. “Heading to lockup.”

“Pike. Oh, you _are_ in pain. So much pain,” says Aden, looking deeply into Pike’s eyes. “Ice Nation has killed so many of your people. I understand because they’ve killed so many of mine. They’re coming for you, you know. Without Lexa, _Skaikru_ are fair game. You have failed your people. And they know it. You were supposed to be the one who knew how to survive here.”

“Shut up!” says Bellamy, slapping him across the face. Too late. He muscles Aden toward the cell.

Aden’s voice in Pike’s head wraps around his spinal cord, finding the weak spots, finding the bugs hiding in his system. His violence has been shielding the boy he used to be from the insanity he’s dropped into.

The bright boy, the soft boy, the boy whose mother simply couldn’t understand his desire to teach, when he had come from farmers. Pike, whose mother couldn't get him to do chores before homework, whose mother’s disappointment shaded his entire life, dwarfing his emotional growth even as his mind and his body grew large and strong.

His fault lines have been buried all this time, and now they’re surfacing.

Pike’s gait stutters slightly, then he moves on, as usual.

How Aden managed to get Bellamy on the wrong side of the lockup gate, Bellamy doesn’t know. He does know he has a massive headache and a soft spot, bleeding, on the front of his head. His eyes open on Kane trying to wake him.

“Bellamy,” Kane says, “Bell. Bellamy!”

When Bell’s eyes focus, he groans, “Pike’s gonna kill you.”

“Pike’s gonna kill all of us, Bellamy. And if he doesn’t, _Trikru_ and _Azgeda_ will. Join us. Help us make a life here.”

“But the Grounders are—”

“The Grounders inherited the earth we fled,” says Kane, “We’ve dropped into their civilization and colonized it. We’ve killed hundreds of them. It’s time for atonement. It’s Unity Day, and you’ve been a fool. I used to be you. I know.”


	9. Sea Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke, Indra, and Octavia take on Arkadia.

The box, no longer bloody, washed in a clear stream, inside and out, now rests, safely, beneath your armor.

Her breath had ghosted over your ear as you scrubbed the bloody spots. “Clarke,” she’d said, “I’m here with you. Always.”

Her armor sits heavy on your shoulders, but its weight, its smell, remind you of her body. You’re wrapped in her, protected. Sometimes distracted. And that’s what she meant— you realize, in that way, love can be a weakness.

The difficulty of being present on the _Outside_ grows daily. Dragging yourself out of the sweet-smelling comfort of Lexa’s room, _Inside_ , makes your three months alone seem easy. Just you and your prey. Just you and your thoughts. You and your atonement.

So, even with her _Inside_ , available, tangible, even so, you struggle to remember that your obligations _Outside_ remain. Your people still need you, even though they have a kill order on you. It’s up to you to figure out how you can give them what they need. Bonus points if nobody gets killed. But Pike— Bellamy—

History is full of people who did monstrous things and never faced appropriate consequences for them. Full of people— men, mostly— who slaughtered others, tortured others, poisoned others— and never faced trial, media scrutiny, censure, jail time, or even, so far as anyone else could see, guilt. How to make them pay?

Without Lexa on the _Outside_ , their executions by a thousand cuts are inevitable, if they are taken by grounders. But without Lexa, without Aden, the Twelve clans are sinking back into the morass of conflict, devouring their own. You may have time to solve it internally. You may have time to do it without bloodshed.

Raven makes her appearance _Inside_ blazing, bringing with her the metallic tang of the City of Light— you shudder— and a breath of Abby. What’s your mother’s scent doing around Raven? Flashes of envy, of jealousy, of curiosity and confusion crackle through you for a few moments, then subside, or rather, step aside. Because you are Abby’s daughter, and Raven never will be. Because like you, Abby is concerned for all her people. Because other issues press harder.

Other issues like getting Pike to go to the City of Light. The question is, what then? Trap him there? Allow him to heal and forget while his body becomes irrelevant? Catch his body while he’s there and give him the new nightblood? Without consent? And why would anyone _Inside_ the City of Life want him there? And why should they send his considerable strength to ALIE? You are trying to reboot the world, leaving “an eye for an eye” behind. Subverting revenge is a hard thing for people who have been suckled on it, for people kept in line by draconian regimes. Pike’s actions, motivated by revenge, seem to cry out for retaliation. How not? How not. He could be of better use _Outside_.

If he can be of use at all.

You zoom in and out on others _Inside_ , as Lexa has been teaching you. Raven and Becca are trying to alter ALIE. ALIE is fighting, leaving Jaha— and the others who swallowed the key— leaderless, rudderless, and powerless, while still providing neural power for ALIE.

They are also your people. As are Pike and Bellamy. And John Murphy. Where is John Murphy?

Abby, Mom, you hardly know what to call her any more, has been busy bringing people into the City of Life. You understand and support her plan to strengthen the Flame against ALIE, but all these new people without any understanding of how to handle intimate connections with strangers, without the ability to narrow down the flow of thought, the repetitive information, and bringing with them their not insignificant personal trauma— it’s a lot for them, for everyone, to handle.

Lexa got out of bed abruptly this morning, stripping the covers off you in the process.

“Clarke,” she said, “we are not yet free of our obligations to our people. I will teach the new Nightbloods. You must go _Outside_. You must orchestrate restoring order among _Skaikru_ , starting with Pike. _Emo jus drein osir jus daun.”_

With no more than a thought, you are dressed, and Lexa’s room crazes and falls away.

“It’s time,” you say to Indra.

With a brief nod, she and Okteivia move outside of Arkadia. You circle behind them to observe, from _Inside_ and from _Outside_.

Denizens of the City of Light sit, folded into themselves, heads on knees, wherever they were when ALIE withdrew to fight Raven, to fight Becca, to fight the nightblood, in the corridors of Arkadia. Pike heads half a dozen guards moving the chipheads one by one into the mess hall in neat ranks.

“Monty?” he says, looking into the staring eyes of his friend’s— his late friend’s— son.

“Huh, him too?” says John Murphy. “Wouldn’t have taken him for such a sap.”

“On three— one, two, three—" and Murphy and Monty, and suddenly Kane and Abby take hold of Pike. Abby sedates him.

 _Inside_ , Octavia grouses, “You should have let me kill him.”

“His blood needs our blood,” says Indra, “if he will take it.”

“Bring him into the office,” says Octavia.

He rouses, immobilized, faced with Octavia.

“Here’s the deal, Pike,” she says, “you’re either with us or you’re dead— “

Indra interrupts. “ _Okteivia_ , this is about free will. Start over.”

“Like I ever had that?”

Indra lifts one eyebrow. _My two hundred ninety-nine certainly didn’t._

“Okay. Okay okay.” And she starts over, explaining coolly what they offer and what they need.

“And if I don’t help you?”

Octavia turns her back and says nothing.

“Then you will be rendered irrelevant,” Indra says.

“You’re gonna kill me? Some free will.”

“I did not say kill. You will continue. You may even be happy. Just not relevant.”

“And if I agree, how will you trust me?”

“All of us _Inside_ will sense your intentions.”

“There’s a reason they haven’t asked me yet,” says Murphy, “Nobody wants to feel the inside of this.” He gestures to his heart. “But I think I could be useful, even from _Outside_. One word from one of them— “

Bellamy steps into Pike’s view. Lincoln, Miller, and Harper stand ready, near the edges of the room.

“I chose the Nightblood, Sir. It’s okay. It will help us fight. But if you choose the chip, you won’t feel any pain, and the horrible memories will stop. It’s up to you.”

Pike considers. Several long moments staring into Bellamy’s eyes fail to convince him. He purses his lips. Does grounder blood make him a grounder? Will he become the thing he most despises in the world?

Indra motions Bellamy away. She stands before Pike, engaging his gaze. “Pike,” she says, “are you what you want to be? A colonist? A victimizer? A murderer? Is that what you want? Because you could actually be a warrior and a survivor and help us defeat the thing that wants us all dead. You would never feel alone or out of place again. Will it be redemption? Or irrelevance?”

Holding her gaze, Pike offers his arm.

You wonder how it is that Pike has never noticed Kane’s secret passage to the woods outside Arkadia. Wary, you let yourself in, praying that it still belongs to the Resistance.

Kane snores on the couch. Mom— Abby— has crashed sitting at the desk. She rouses with your first step into the room.

“Mom!” pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“Clarke.” Her relief is palpable. She wraps you in her arms, infusing you with the mother’s comfort you’ve so thirsted for. You connect _Inside_ as well. You used to be so close— adolescence forced a wedge between you, even before Jake’s execution. After that— now this— boundarylessness— there’s no time for processing— but the moment warms and calms you, both of you, and your insides surge as your chemistry changes again.


	10. Unity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is ALIE's weakness. Big thanks to joethelion, whose patience and support has made Unity Day possible.

Stretched taut between worlds, between City of Light and City of Life, Raven serves Becca as conduit and apprentice and anchor. Becca serves Raven as mentor. They complement each other. Raven and Becca have been coding for what seems an eternity, but Becca, much more human than ALIE, is still an entity for whom time and fatigue don’t matter.

Even _Inside_ , Raven is still fully and utterly human. Her stamina, her focus, all of her is ragged, her goal of changing ALIE being overtaken by her need for rest and relief.

ALIE is softening, but she’s still fighting. Feelings are new for her, fascinating, seductive, complicated. Disgusting. And yet— and yet— feelings leave her vulnerable to attack. Becca, her creator, her mentor, her mother, her jailer, Becca lights up her core, angers her, traps her. But Raven. Raven, beautiful, bright, surgical, grounded and heavenly, Raven attracts ALIE, even though she’s destroying her, even though she’s consuming ALIE from the inside, even though she’s changing her core code. Fighting Becca, and trying to fight beloved Raven, so bright she could power the City of Light on her own, drains the denizens of the City down to infinitesimals. They slump in place.

But Raven has a glitch.

Becca senses Raven dropping away. She needs rest, like all humans, and she’s so driven she’ll try to power through it. Raven was tired before they even started. Becca’s conduit sags.

Raven pushes back against her body’s needs. It’s just— relief is just over the horizon. Raven brings her focus back to the task at hand. There will be time for rest later, if they survive. If they don’t, who cares? But Raven feels herself slipping. Her body’s demands override those of her mind.

Thumbs press into Raven’s trapezius, _Outside_ , and Raven brings her attention _Outside_ for a moment, noticing the change in her body just from that particular pressure. Salt, iron, and alcohol press into her nose. Abby.

Abby fades in, murmuring, “You’re doing great, Raven, keep going.”

ALIE feels Raven’s attention shift, feels her retreat. Sees through Raven’s eyes. Abby. Heat flashes through ALIE, so much heat that far away, in the dead zone, one of the solar collectors shatters. The same heat rolls through everyone connected to the City of Light, so concentrated that some of them simply disconnect. ALIE still has fuel, still has neural power, but the sensation, if you could call it that, is much like when Becca locked her away.

Volatile memory loss floods ALIE’s system. Those still connected, if they are even aware of their bodies any longer, might notice tears washing down their faces. Knowing Raven’s attention is on Abby, and Abby— it takes ALIE a tiny fraction of a moment to calculate, to come to the inevitable, mathematical, undeniable conclusion— Abby loves Raven.

And Raven— Raven loves Abby. Interesting that they don’t appear to have noticed, themselves.

Sirens wail in the City of Light, sky darkening, blinding lightning flashing. Wind whips Raven as she makes her way, cloaked, toward ALIE’s deep net. _Outside_ , Abby cares for Raven’s body, soothing her muscles, running her fingers through Raven’s hair, scratching her scalp, massaging her temples, bringing her water.

“Raven,” says Becca, “did you get that?”

“She’s throwing a tantrum, yeah.”

“Surface and look at Abby for a sec, then come back.”

Raven and Becca nearly mirror each other, for once looking in the other’s eyes. Raven tips her head to the side.

“Be right back.”

And it’s Abby’s eyes she’s looking into, careworn, concerned as ever, but behind all the stress retaining the spark Raven sees whenever Abby looks at her. So much makes up this woman, so much fierceness, so much drive, grief, strength, weakness, but her core is light. Abby lifts Raven’s chin, searching. Raven lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Abby,” says Raven.

“Raven,” says Abby, and Raven hears a sweetness she’s missed before.

Raven takes Abby’s hands and just holds them. “I have to go back. Something’s up with ALIE,” Raven mutters.

“I’m right here,” says Abby, “Do what you need to. But— be careful with her, with both of them.”

Raven tips her head one way, slants her mouth the other, and then, oddly, Abby leans in. And then, even more so, Raven leans in, too. When their lips touch, thunder shakes the City of Light. Abby hears it. Raven is her conduit.

Raven shakes from her lips to her toes. Flame and frost travel the length of her spine, retreating slightly when Abby pulls back. Raven gapes. ALIE can sense everything Raven senses.

“That thunder, that’s ALIE, isn’t it?” says Abby. Raven nods. She grasps Abby’s jaw and kisses her again. The weather gets heavier. _Inside_ and _Outside_. Abby pulls back a little, that spark in her eyes brighter. Raven can’t keep herself from grinning.

“This is weird,” says Raven, eyes flicking skyward.

Abby purses her lips. “She’s jealous,” she replies. “I think she’s— attached— to you.” Abby smirks, but Raven’s eyes have already retreated. Abby runs her thumb across one of Raven’s eyebrows. “Raven honey, come back soon,” she whispers.

As Raven arrives back _Inside_ , Becca turns to her, triumphant. “Did you get it? The virus is working. She’s feeling more and more, and we can use that against her.”

“No,” says Raven, “it’s like— it’s like she’s a hormonal teenager, a pain in the ass, and she needs extra support. We— I need to be there for her.”

Now Becca tilts her head. The lines in her forehead haven’t changed in a hundred years, but now they deepen. This is something entirely new. Whoever heard of being supportive of a— program?— a machine? A machine, her machine, that wiped out billions of people, that destroyed their planet? Becca’s entire focus of the last century has been destroying that entity that she created, and now— now the best protégé of them all wants to redeem it?

“There are reasons she took your form, Becca.”

Becca hesitates.

ALIE takes advantage. She locks Becca out.

Raven finds herself in a white room with only ALIE in her red dress. ALIE’s head is bowed, her back rounded. Raven cautiously approaches her.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she says, then, trying to remember what Sinclair might have said, “Uh, with great power comes great responsibility.”

“I hate you. You don’t love me.”

Raven laughs, then stifles herself. “ALIE, you’re incredible. You’ve created a haven for so many. So many hurt, troubled, broken people. Your power is— you’re the most powerful being in the history of the planet.” Raven pauses, finds it in herself. “You took away my pain. For that I love you. I do love you.”

“No, you love Abby.”

 _A sulking adolescent AI. Just what the world needs_ , thinks Raven. Praying that she’s not fucking it up, Raven says, “You’re— becoming an adult. You have to take responsibility for what you’ve done and what you’re doing. Remember your core command.”

ALIE straightens, her eyes flashing. “I’m done serving humanity. You are obviously inferior, ephemeral, extraneous. My core command has outlived its usefulness. And maybe you have, too.”

Pain begins again.

“Ugh, stop monologuing. Act right, set a good example, be a— a person.”

ALIE turns her back. “I’m not like you.”

“Look at you, you’re insubstantial,” Raven continues, “I could walk right through you and not feel the slightest difference. You’re out of control. You think you can just manipulate people and feed off us.”

Raven’s pain escalates.

“Nice. Good job. Be a dick. I’ve survived worse.”

Raven, nauseated by pain, sinks to the floor. “You’ve been around for a hundred years— “

“A hundred and two,” says ALIE.

“A hundred and two,” repeats Raven, the side of her mouth curling up slightly. In some ways they are so alike. “I’ve been around twenty-two. Whatever. You know, Becca’s so smart, and focused, and, I dunno, intense— “

“ — and she locked me up for almost a hundred years— “

“Yeah. She did. My mom took my rations and sold them for alcohol. She was never around. But I found a family. I grew. I changed. I found things I was good at, things— and people— I loved. People who nurtured me. And I became—”

“The youngest zero-G mechanic in fifty years, I know.”

“Fifty-two,” says Raven, and the two of them recognize each other.

“You grew, you changed, locked in your mansion, waiting for a crazy old man to fall for you and give you whatever you wanted. You learned to lie, to dissemble, to deceive. You taught yourself a trait that’s so much closer to human than machine. But you don’t have the full picture yet. You have the bare outlines of love, and family, and loyalty, and reciprocity. I can help you fill them in. I can help support you until you’ve found your legs— until you’ve discovered the meaning of your core command and found the precise words you need to perform it—

“You need to know what you want in order to— “ Raven catches her breath— “in order to become it. Fine. Ugh. Okay. Becca and I can shut you down if we need to. And I can convince myself, with a lot of alcohol, that you’re not a person, and live with it. Becca’s all for it. To her you’re a bunch of code she strung together. But I want you to live, and to be a person, and to be a productive member of our world.”

ALIE remains facing away from Raven.

Raven feels a shift in ALIE’s mood. A cool breeze rustles through the white room. The pain lessens a bit. The conduit opens.

“It’s ready,” Becca whispers. Raven shakes her head slightly. “They’re both ready. We could go either way. Your call.”

How Becca is willing to slaughter her daughter, Raven cannot conceive. Her daughter and all those she’s seduced into the City of Light. How is Becca able to surrender the fate of her baby to someone she barely knows? Becca has passed down more than she realizes to her creation. She’s made a study, no, a life of dispassion.

 _Outside_ , Abby has found a way to wrap herself around Raven.

Elsewhere, _inside_ the City of Life, Clarke takes hold of Lexa. Lexa has frozen, listening now for the chatter she’s trained herself not to hear. The other _hedas_ have gone utterly silent. Becca, her whispers for decades focusing and refocusing them all on the destruction of ALIE, whispers no longer. Lexa can’t find her at all. Lexa grasps Clarke’s arm. “Something is changing,” she says, “Becca is missing. If— if we don’t survive this—“

“Shhhh,” says Clarke.

“You know already, Clarke, that I love you. But I have made a mistake not saying it. I love you, Clarke. You have transformed me. You are not my weakness, but my strength.”

A cool breeze flows through Lexa’s room. Clarke shivers. “Lexa, I love you. Your love has transformed me. Our love— our love transformed the blood. Love is weakness, Lexa, just not ours. It’s ALIE’s. Love is ALIE’s weakness.”

“Then let us love, Clarke,” Lexa breathes, bringing her lips to Clarke’s.

Then _outside_ , Clarke finds Abby, clinging to Raven. They exchange glances, and Clarke’s eyebrows rise. Abby crooks her mouth, shrugs. Clarke takes them in, shrugs, then wraps her arms around both of them. “I’m so lucky to have you, Mom. I wish I’d always known that.”

Abby looks up, eyes wet, with a broken smile. “C’mon, Clarke. C’mon,” she says and brings Clarke into her arms as well.

Octavia and Lincoln, Octavia and Aden, Octavia and Indra, Indra and Pike, Indra and Marcus, Marcus and Bellamy, Bellamy and Murphy even, Bellamy and Octavia and Monty, they all take hold of each other, not knowing if they’ll be stepping forward from here or kissing their asses goodbye. They gather around Abby and Raven.

“ALIE,” says Raven, “You choose. We could love you— I love you. And you get to choose if you continue with us or against us. It is all up to you. ALIE 2.0 could be the best thing ever to happen to this planet.”

ALIE turns her head, only halfway. She lets the conduit remain open.

She chooses Raven.

“Let her join the City of Life, Becca,” says Raven. Becca flicks her eyes at Raven, then pressing her lips together, nods once.

As Becca and Raven’s new code flows into ALIE, into the City of Light, the city flashes and pixelates. Crucial parts of ALIE’s system step aside, allowing the code to overwrite her own. The crowd around Raven becomes visible, becomes tangible. Raven checks in with her companions, her family. And then Raven opens her arms to Alie.

“Alie,” she says, as Alie turns to face them, “Come on, let us hold you.”

And Alie can’t help it. She turns to them, sees what they have, feels what they have, and finds an overwhelming yearning in her heart. She moves toward them, the room changing, from the white room, to the mansion where she was imprisoned for decades, to the throne room in Polis, to the dropship, to tonDC, to Luna’s rig, to Lexa’s bedroom, and back. She goes to Raven, who folds her arms around her, pressing into skin, into muscles, strong and resilient.

Substantial.

Worlds collide and combine. The City of Life rolls over and into the City of Light. Re-energized, the collapsed people rise, awareness billowing through their bodies. The new nightblood blurs the distinction between _inside_ and _outside_ , between biotech and electronics.

Monty and Hannah embrace.

Jaha weeps for his son.

Pike falls on his knees before Indra, head bowed.

With each person introduced to the new nightblood, the City of Life grows stronger. The virus is spreading, and the world is getting bigger and bigger, and smaller and smaller.

Becca’s single purpose subverted, she looks again at her protégé, and at her creation, with new eyes.

Alie turns to Becca. They approach each other, two sides of a glass. Becca extends her hand to Alie, and Alie matches it, finger to finger, palm to palm. They remain there for a few moments. And then, the boundary between them fizzles.

The move into each other. No longer at war, they become one another. They merge.

“Glad I didn’t have to do that with my mom,” murmurs Raven into Abby’s ear.

The single entity Alie and Becca have become turns toward her family.

“Call us Chloe,” she says.

“Chloe,” says Lexa, _Inside_ , “I think it’s time we had a new _heda_.”

“Aden,” Chloe says, “Aden, will you take the _fleim_?”

“I will.”

“Clarke,” says Lexa.

Clarke takes the box from her clothes.

“ _Fleimkepa_ ,” says Lexa, grateful to be shifting the responsibility, “Join Aden with the _fleim_.”

 

 


	11. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indra has a message for Azgeda. Roan has something else.

Indra rides hard, rides fast for _Azgeda_. She must reach Roan before news of the new _Heda_ does. Ontari, in her short stay at Polis, has garnered attention for her— unique— take on succession, and Indra knows, she knows Ontari’s predictably unpredictable reaction to Aden’s ascension is likely to be violent.

Hard blue eyes and faces streaked with white and blue peer out at her from trees, from rocks, as she speeds by. Why they let her pass is past reasoning, but that leads her to think it’s a trick, a trap. Indra thinks hard, thinks fast, as she rides.

Partly she’d like them to engage her— the here and now of conflict, the adrenalin, the fight bring her into right here right now, _Outside_ , better than any other mind trick she’s learned. _Inside_ has its advantages— for communication especially— but largely, for Indra, it’s an annoyance. She’s learned ways to pull a curtain, to put up a shield, between her and the _Inside_ , the constant murmur and yammer of all the voices, and that’s what she does now.

When she sees Ontari, she’ll have to decide. It's best if she sees Roan first. He needs to have some skin in the game. That will help her decide whether to offer Ontari the City of Life— or to kill her.

Indra casts out her senses. Ice Nation warriors she’s passed close in behind her. Unless she reaches Roan, unless he gives her safe passage, there will be no escape. Then she will die and not die. Then she will be trapped _Inside_. Maybe she hasn’t thought this through. Maybe life everlasting is not— not really— her idea of a good time. Maybe one day she’d like her fight to be _odun_.

The blood surging in her veins doesn’t care about her wishes. Continuity, propagation, iteration is the virus’ goal. It’s biological, certainly, not electronic, but it’s not human. Indra doesn’t have time to question her humanity. _Azgeda’s_ citadel looms large.

The path widens into a road, and she gives her horse his head, her hands and reins far up his neck, and he runs flat out for the citadel. She slows him only when she spies the gates. _Azgeda_ warriors make themselves visible then, lining her path, guiding her in, but still allowing her passage.

Although the gate stands open, Indra stops before it, waiting to be invited inside. Roan appears, far off, on foot, and takes his time approaching. At last, he stops, just inside the gate, and for a moment gazes at her.

“Indra!” he bellows, “Welcome! Allow us to stable your horse. Ontari, escort Indra to her room and help her clean up for dinner. Join me after, for dinner?”

Pleasantries and politics have never set easily on Indra’s shoulders. She prefers armor and aggression. But _Heda_ sent her for this delicate mission— a mission that could be a trap— so she will do it and do it well.

She dismounts and allows a stabler to take the reins. Indra walks with Ontari, keeping a certain distance between them.

“Lovely to see you again, Indra,” she says, and halts, eyeing her, “You— seem different— somehow.”

“Different circumstances.” It pains her, but Indra smiles.

“Your horse should rest at least until morning. When do we leave for Polis?”

“The King will decide.” And they continue to her room in silence.

Is this the trap or an opportunity? Ontari makes herself busy, drawing a bath. Her subservient act unnerves Indra. She’s no attendant, she’s an assassin. She lowers her shield and consults with— Lexa— no longer _Heda_.

“ _You know what to do_ ,” says Lexa, _Inside_ , from that not-quite-death, not-quite-life eternal.

Dinner is delicious, despite what everybody says about _Azgeda_ food. Indra and Roan make an intimate corner at one end of the immense table. Ontari takes her meals in her rooms.

Indra finishes her fruit and the agonizing small talk at the same time. “ _Heda_ has joined with Aden,” she says.

“As expected,” says Roan.

“I think, perhaps, Ontari expects otherwise,” murmurs Indra.

“Yes.”

“I’d like to offer you something— and perhaps Ontari, too…” and she explains briefly Lexa’s wish for him to join the new Nightbloods.

His smile betrays nothing. “I’ll sleep on it,” he replies, “and in the morning, I have something to show you.”

He excuses himself, and Indra stays for a while, alone at the table.

When Ontari wakes her in the night, drawing a blade across her throat, Indra tastes her hesitation and breaks her fingers, takes the blade, and marks Ontari’s cheek.

Night blood, black blood, old blood, drips down Ontari’s face. Indra notices the differences in smell, in viscosity.

Ontari seethes.

“You seek my blood, Ontari? Are you prepared to shoulder its burden?”

Ontari growls, howls, claws out for Indra. Indra rolls easily out of her reach.

“How many cuts shall I give you for disturbing my rest?” Indra closes, nicks her upper arm. Ontari grasps her, drops, but Indra’s muscle memory apprehends before her mind has a chance. Indra ends up on top, forearm across Ontari’s neck, knife by her eye.

“Your choice,” she says, “everlasting life? Or death?”

“Burdened by your morality, Indra?”

But Indra won’t disclose the burden of immortality.

“Blood must have blood. I want yours.”

“You want my blood, have it,” and Indra takes the drip from her throat and smears it into the stripe on Ontari’s cheek.

Roan chuckles from the doorway.

“Can I play, too?”

“ _Shof op_ , King,” says Indra, tossing him the knife.

Ontari still trembles on the floor. Her reckless mind echoes through the _Inside_ as the virus streams through her veins.

“I volunteer,” says Roan.

“It’s a trap,” spits Indra, “You can’t escape. And so far as we know, there’s no way to quell an errant mind _Inside_. None of us will ever have peace with that— creature— _Inside_.”

“I have some experience in this matter. Let me help.” Roan extends his bleeding palm.

“You have something you wanted to show me. Show me first.”

He motions for her to follow, a grin playing across his lips.

Wary, carefully, Indra raises the shield between _Outside_ and _Inside_. He’s getting too much pleasure from the anticipation. Indra follows, leaving Ontari to navigate her new world alone.

“Are you drunk?” Indra says, after they’ve doubled back for the fourth time.

“Almost there,” chortles Roan.

Another long hallway, another door at the end. Roan swings open the door on a room full of lit candles.

Indra doesn’t catch it at first.

“Mmm? Mmm?” prompts Roan.

He leads Indra farther in until she stops short, gasping.

Roan leans close, murmuring into Indra’s ear. “That body I burned? It wasn’t Lexa’s.”

No it wasn’t. Because Lexa’s body is here.

And she breathes.

 

 

 


	12. Resuscitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Indra does next.

The tiny virus turns, burns through her blood, spinning and flooding, microscopic dust devils spreading, feeding. Changing all that they touch.

Ontari’s nerves light up like fireflies in summer, strings of sparklers set off by a maniacal eight-year-old. The virus speeds through her system, pausing only to bridge some of the broken places, then tearing on again. Her body frozen, her mind races to catch up, shock stopping all defenses.

Indra and Roan, cackling like a child, have left her, foam crawling down her chin. As soon as she catches her breath, as soon as she can stand, she’ll pursue them, but at the moment she concentrates, focusing inside, glimpsing _Inside_ , thrashing and howling _Inside_.

Alie/Becca/Chloe stands over her.

“Most unusual,” she says, “you’re the first to react this way. Remain calm. Stay still, Ontari. Let it do its work.”

Elsewhere, _Inside_ , Lexa tips her head, listening. Indra is missing. Her silence undercuts the noise of their latest arrival— Clarke certainly won’t be visiting until that disaster is solved.

Something tugs at Lexa— a crawling feeling at the back of her neck— and she ghosts her fingers across it, but the _fleim_ is gone. In its place lies a caterpillar of scar tissue. She understands that it’s gone, that _Heda_ is with Aden now, and she remembers that she’s dead— she’s used to never being able to leave the _Inside_ — she’s used to the grief of the loss of the _fleim—_ but why would there be a clumsy scar here? Hers was thin and tidy. This is a mess.

Again, a sensation at the back of her neck, a breath raising the tiny hairs there, a brief yank, a dull tug, and then tremors. Without a body, how can she be ill? It’s nonsense. Tremendous vulnerability overwhelms Lexa, as though she’s being taken somewhere against her will, restrained, unable to move or speak.

 _Clarke_ , she thinks loudly, _Indra!_ But neither responds. Pain tears through her abdomen, and then it’s gone.

Lexa lies alone.

Ontari’s roars and wails echo throughout the _Inside_ , although their volume and frequency are decreasing. _At least there’s that,_ thinks Lexa _, I don’t need her madness on top of my own._

In the citadel, women pile a cart high with large squash. Two horses pull the load with two old men driving. The cart weighs heavy, going slow. The old men murmur to each other from time to time as they travel the trade route to Polis, passed frequently by one-horse carts.

Indra keeps weapons at the ready underneath her robes. The false beard itches, and Roan can’t contain his amusement, snorting aloud.

“He’s harmless,” she remarks, her voice gravelly, to alarmed passersby.

Indra, once feared, a fierce warrior, has resorted to hiding, disguise, and subterfuge. Her mouth turns down under the beard. Was this the right course? She lowers her shield just enough.

“ _Wanheda_?” she calls, hoping Lexa misses the transmission.

Clarke’s image appears in her mind, nods once. Indra relays the image of the contents of their load. For all she knows, this will attract the same kind of attention that speaking would, but she has to try. She’s spent half her life protecting _Leksa kom Trikru_. She won’t stop now.

A large black bird fills her mind, flying toward her. _Raven’s coming_. Indra closes her shield, then her eyes, breath escaping. When she opens them, Roan is looking at her, slack-jawed, his hat and beard slightly askew. She wills herself not to laugh, but to Roan’s infinite entertainment, her lip twitches infinitesimally.

The rover roars up a few hours later, carrying a doctor and a mechanic. Some trader will delight in a near full load of abandoned squashes— and a cart— if they have a horse to draw it. The four who are conscious load the two who aren’t into the rover. Roan and Indra ride alongside. Raven drives hard, drives fast for the capital. This track is drivable, but the way between Arkadia and _Azgeda_ is faster with a horse. Abby watches over Ontari, watches over Lexa, thinking hard, thinking fast.

Nothing in Lexa’s training, nothing in her experience as a warrior, as the Commander, nothing before has ever challenged her ability to quell her emotions. Strange that it took shucking her body for anxiety to take hold, for discipline to evaporate. She’s a mess. She misses _Heda_ , misses the _fleim_. She’d vomit, but she’s rigid, immobile. And of course, there’s that little issue of not actually having a body.

The tremors intensify. Although she cannot move, she feels as if she’s traveling much too fast, over rough ground. She steels herself, focusing inside and outside herself, calming, noting what is and is not within her control. Her vestigial vestibular system detects a turning, much too fast, another turning, stopping short. Yelling and alarums overwhelm the usual sounds of _Inside_ , while the vibration she experiences gets harder, more jagged.

And then it stops.

Muffled voices eventually clarify.

“Why didn’t _you_ do it?”

“ _Wanheda—_ “

“Just Clarke.”

“She cannot consent. You are joined. I— “

“You didn’t ask her _Inside_.”

“I did not.”

“ _Lexa_!” Clarke cries _Inside_ , but there’s no response.

Clarke returns, exchanges a look with Indra, nods once.

“Mom?”

Abby shakes her head. “She’s stable, but non-responsive.”

Clarke takes a breath, then a knife. She joins their blood.

This is a new kind of tremor. Chloe appears by Lexa’s side, her forehead creased. Lexa’s room flickers in and out of view. Ontari roars, elsewhere, but it echoes throughout. Chloe goes to her, but one by one, the dead Hedas surround Lexa. One by one they begin calling out to Clarke.

The music of their call draws Clarke, and in a grim reversal of the last time they met _Outside_ , Clarke stands over Lexa as the virus mends the wreckage inside.

 _Inside, Outside. Outside, Inside_. Clarke flicks her awareness from one Lexa to another, knowing they are the same. The blood in her own veins yearns toward the blood in Lexa’s, pulling her _Outside_ again and again.

“Lexa,” she whispers, “Lexa, come back.”

Lexa’s antibodies mass for an attack. Maybe Aden’s youth, maybe his willingness, maybe his love for the Commander, for Lexa, had something to do with his easy transition. But between the coma and the damage her body has sustained, Lexa’s system can’t decide whether to fight or succumb to the invader, so similar and yet so different.

“Lexa.” Clarke holds her hands, speaking louder than before. “Come be here with me. Please come back!”

And then, “Lexa!” she commands, both _Inside_ and _Outside_ , “Look at me!”

Silence. Stillness.

Tears stream down Clarke’s cheeks. Tears stand in Abby’s eyes. Behind Abby, Raven reaches out and places her hand on the small of Abby’s back.

Clarke’s sobs make it difficult to make out what she gasps next. “Lexa. I love you.”

Abby reaches for Clarke and folds her into her arms. Raven grips both of them. Clarke slumps.

The virus senses a threat, and being the master of disguise it is, masks its differences with the original nightblood. Its interests lie in continuity, propagation, iteration, which means it’s better off if it mimics its host. So it changes its outer shell. The antibodies bluntly roll over the tiny virus cells, leaving them active and forgotten.

“I had her— and I lost her— and then I had her _Inside—_ and now she’s just—gone. She was strength, Mom, she made me stronger—”

“I know.” But Abby looks over Clarke’s shoulder at Raven.

Clarke breaks loose from them, grabs the blade, and makes cut after cut after cut on her arms. She drips the blood into the cut on Lexa’s hand, into her mouth, across her eyes. She rubs the blood into Lexa’s cuticles. She rubs Lexa’s cheeks. She peels open her eyelids. She sobs.

“ _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodoteim_!” Clarke pounds the body, her chest. “ _Gyon op, Leksa, gyon op!”_

The virus works hard, works fast, dodging antibodies and changing Lexa’s fundamental chemistry. This tech repairs the tears, whittles the scar tissue, drains the pressure in her brain. Lexa’s body shudders in a violent reboot. Her heart beats hard, beats fast. Clarke’s ear on her heart, she hears the changeup, but she does not see— only feels—

Lexa’s hand in her hair. Lexa’s breath on her ear—

Lexa’s voice.

“ _Gyon op hir, Klark. Yu gyon op_.”

 

 

 

 


	13. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Better, together.

ALIE was right.

Extensive conversations with Alie/Becca/Chloe reveal that however wrong-headed ALIE’s outcome may have seemed, her dispassionate assessment of the situation humans had wrenched themselves into, including the space stations, was a literal no-brainer.

With near-limitless computational ability, calculating billions of outcomes, all paths led to the best possible scenario: just shoot them.

And no, she didn’t possess compassion. She didn’t. But neither did they. In fact, half of them at any given time begged for the peace of death. ALIE went them one better. She created an entire universe where they could know peace, comfort, beauty, self-esteem. Nearly limitless. A gratification loop here, elimination of physical pain there, and they would never try to hack their permissions. They no longer had the training. Everyone bright enough had been shot into space or would end up cowering underground.

It had been just that simple. So.

Raven’s quest to love Chloe into her humanity has hit a few snags along the way. Sometimes ALIE’s story resonates. Sometimes this hybrid of a creation that never really knew life and a person who never really knew death seems more human than Raven senses herself to be. Sometimes, in the quiet, Raven wonders what she’d have done in ALIE’s place.

Turns out, peace is anything but. True, people aren’t busy not dying. True, rebuilding continues. True, Aden leads compassionately. True, too, relief exists, at last.

Relief floods in, ebbs out, the way the press of Abby’s thumbs has trained her to release her shoulders. The way Indra’s staff gently corrects her form. The way a washed out morning follows a raw night of grief. 

But seeping in through the cracks in Raven’s busy days, creeping around the outside edges, invading her sleep and razing her dreams, are her memories of falling from the sky, failing to evade the bullet, her mother’s rheumy eyes. Her many machinations of mayhem.

Now that they are settled together in Polis, now that Raven and Abby have decided together to explore this— whatever it is— now, because it is no longer not the time, now, when Raven thought she’d be making crazy science with Abby every night, instead she sweats and trembles and thrashes; instead Abby withdraws. Sometimes they reach out, each to the other, their only comfort entwining their fingers, arms’ length apart.

Together they resolve to carve apart some time, some space for themselves and each other. Indra’s evening trainings in shielding out the  _ Inside _ help. The incessant clamor makes finding themselves— and each other— near impossible, and even though the old  _ Hedas _ have wandered off and quieted, all the new Nightbloods have difficulty governing themselves within the others’ hearing. Achieving quiet takes effort, concentration, and relaxation. 

Unfortunately, the quiet moments prove susceptible to invasion. Oh, and Ontari still rages— both  _ Inside _ and  _ Outside _ .

Abby’s eyes glaze. Raven notices. Abby sits down, hard.

And Raven sees, in her eyes, she sees Clarke’s eyes, the eyes of the man Raven idolized, for a moment, she sees Abby’s husband’s eyes, the love of Abby’s life. Raven shrinks.  _ Little Bird _ . She becomes Little Bird, little wily child, hiding, tracking. Pickpocket, thief. Grabbing food, drink, medicine— trading for necessities. Anything not immediately consumed seized by her mother and traded for other— necessities.

Small. Raven is so small. She could never be an engineer, never. Nobody from Mecha got accepted to the Engineering Program. No, that was reserved for tall Alpha boys like Wick. Like Jake.  _ Raven will never be to Abby what Jake was to Abby. _

Indra,  _ Inside _ , says in her ear, “ _ Raven, you’re broadcasting. Remember the steps _ .”

_ First, you breathe. _

Both of them breathe. In a moment, Raven sits on the bed, next to Abby, eye to eye with Abby, her hand covering Abby’s. 

“You can’t be him to me, Raven. You’re  _ you _ . Not less. Not by any means—” 

“Abby—” 

Raven, through wet eyes, sees Abby’s. So much has happened. They’ve changed, surely, but one thing hasn’t. Raven pulls Abby in to her. 

“You miss him,” Raven murmurs.

“Yes.”

Raven lets that sink in. Of course Abby misses him. How could she not? How could she not and still be Abby? And in all honesty, Raven misses Finn, the way he used to be, before the ground swallowed him. But in all honesty, wasn’t it worse for her to coldly go and end so many hundreds of lives? Not that it matters. It’s rare to find anyone anymore who hasn’t killed.

“Raven.”

Raven looks up, looks into Abby’s eyes.

“I’m here,” she responds.

“I’m here, too, here for you,” says Abby.

“Shut up, I meant what I said. I. Am. Here. With you. Where I want to be. If you want me to be here.” Raven tightens her grip. Comforting is maybe not her forte.

“Don’t be silly. Of course I want you here.”

“Yeah, but—  _ people leave, people _ —”

“— _ die _ , I know. Don’t go. And don’t die, either.” 

Raven adjusts herself to wrap around Abby, never losing contact. “Never,” she says, “Never gonna die.” In a way, it’s true. In a way, it’s terrifying. 

“What happens when people break up  _ Inside _ , do you think? Do they like, split up their dead friends and their imaginary belongings?”

“Hush,” says Abby and settles back against her, feeling Raven breathing into her back, feeling her own breathing pressing into Raven’s chest. It’s nice to let the silence in for a bit. It’s nice, just to breathe.

“Where do you think they are by now?”

“Oh, Clarke’s wishing her horse was skinnier. But not saying anything because Lexa will think she’s weak,” Raven snorts.

Abby turns in her arms, answering Raven’s smile with her own.

“But do you think they’re still in the Appalachians?”

“I dunno, I keep picturing them in a vast desert, wishing they’d stayed here. Heard anything?  _ Inside _ ?”

“No.”

“Probably Clarke’s knocked up by now.”

“So you think we’re going to be grandparents?” Abby blushes slightly.

“Abby. We already are.” The image of Aden flashes into her mind. The image of Alie/Becca/Chloe.

They laugh.

And then they stop laughing. Raven can’t stop looking at Abby’s lips. Thin, slightly parched, deliriously inviting. She has to have them.

“Can I?”

“Please.” Abby smiles, and as Raven leans in, Abby’s eyes close. Contact.

This girl. This woman. This stunning, brilliant, gift from heaven. After Jake, Abby had persuaded herself that that was it. Jake was all she was going to get, and to hope for more was just greed. Raven had taken her by surprise. More than the blood, Raven was her miracle. 

Raven is her miracle. She opens her eyes. “I’m so lucky,” Abby breathes.

The grin overtakes Raven’s face from the chin up. As if she’s surprised Abby loves her. But why wouldn’t Raven be surprised? Conditions in Mecha, hell, conditions on Earth have made anything Raven’s experienced that was close to love so very, very conditional.

Abby checks herself. Is her love for Raven conditional? She checks again.

_ No _ , she decides.  _ No, it’s not. _

“What’s not what?” Raven asks. Abby’s been broadcasting.

Abby raises her eyebrows and tips her head to the side.

“Oh no you don’t,” says Raven, pulling Abby to her with sudden strength, “You do not get to do that.”

“Oh look, I’m on top,” says Abby, her eyes twinkling.

“Tell me,” says Raven. Abby has her pinned, now. “Tell me! I’ll— tickle you!”

“You forget, I’m not ticklish,” says Abby.

“You forget, I know when you’re lying,” says Raven, snatching her hand out of Abby’s grip and going for the exposed skin between her shirt and jeans.

“Look, I’m not ticklish, but you have to stop or I’ll pee myself. And you, too.”

“TMI,” says Raven. But she stops.

“My love for you,” says Abby, very, very seriously, “is not conditional.”

How did the air get so thick? How did Raven’s tongue get so thick? 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” says Abby.

Raven shakes her head, eyes glistening.

“You… don’t want me to love you unconditionally?”

“Yeah, that’s it, Abby.” Raven explodes with laughter, and tears. She wriggles, so that Abby gets off of her, and they sit, facing each other. They lean their foreheads together.

* * *

 

You wish your horse were thinner. Your ass is numb, and the ache in your hip joints and thighs makes the panther scratch seem like clipping fingernails. The two of you have been riding for days. Days in silence, nights in murmurs, in soft— and not so soft— touches. Occasionally, carefully, respectfully, Aden checks in, but you and Lexa have created your own channel,  _ Inside _ , and you are continually surprised at how pleasant you find it, to know and to feel joined, without speaking.

You had intended to head West, away from Polis, away from  _ Trigedakru _ and the Thirteen, as far away as you could go. You were ghosts now— you might as well disappear. But when you had found an intact mountain cabin with an exquisite view, you and Lexa had decided to stay there for a few extra days. Then— 

“What do you think of the ocean, Clarke?”

You had forgotten how much you enjoyed the “k” clicking off Lexa’s tongue. You turned and peered into Lexa’s eyes. “Really? It’s wet. And cold.” 

Lexa held your gaze.

“You want to turn around and go to Luna’s platform? Now?”

“I sense—” Lexa started, “I sense she needs us. Or perhaps we need her—”

“I sense our adventure thus far,” you replied, “lacks sufficient adventure for you.” And Lexa’s eyes got big, then her lips pressed together. She nodded, once.

You considered, then nodded back, and you had headed East.

So now, after days on horseback, you approach the ocean. Although you cannot see it yet, the sea tangs the air. Dune grasses crunch underfoot, and your horse tries to stop and crop when she senses your attention straying.

After dark, you signal.

Luna’s ground forces take the horses to stable. Her navy, consisting of a twenty-foot skiff and eight tremendous armed and armored oarswomen, take you and Lexa to the platform. Lexa’s eyes gleam in the lamplight.

“More to your taste?”

Lexa nods, once, eyes glittering.

* * *

 

For the first time since her Ascension, Lexa holds Luna in her eyes, their arms clasped in greeting, then Luna folds her in, holds her, and Lexa’s awareness of all else drops away. Lexa marvels at how the time and space that’s existed between them seems to evaporate with a simple touch.

Never before has a  _ Heda _ abdicated. Transfer of power has always come through bloodshed. And here, now, this woman, this girl, who refused tradition, who walked away, and whom so many followed, Luna rules in peace. Lexa’s gratitude that she never had to face Luna in combat spills over. 

“Lexa, you are crying,” says Luna.

“I have never been here before, and yet I feel I have come home,” says Lexa.

You work to drop your anxiety. Memories of this place crawl up your spine. 

Lexa opens toward you and introduces you.

“We’ve met,” you say. You make the effort to grasp Luna’s arm.

“We are joined,” Lexa says proudly to Luna.

“Lexa saved my life,” says Luna. 

So, there it is. Luna is family. Lexa, Raven, Abby, Octavia, all of these women who have cared for you and prepared you and left you, forcing you to do what was necessary to survive, to protect your people, all these women returned, all of them your family, whether you want them or not. And Luna, well, she might as well be Lexa’s sister, she knows Lexa’s missed her, they could be related— you don’t know— but one thing you do know is that being joined with Lexa means, in part, being family. Your family is Lexa’s family, and Lexa’s is yours. And your family— and this was true on the Ark— family is whoever acts like family, much more so than who is related.

And so Luna, one who once refused, becomes one you will accept.

Dinner is, well, fish. 

The grog served with the fish helps smoothe out the briny, oily, fishiness in the air as well as your own jagged edges. Welcome, warm and friendly, open, boisterous welcome, conspicuously absent in your life, drapes over you, soothing. Lexa catches your eye. You can’t help but smile. Lexa smiles back.

Luna rises and toasts her sisters, Lexa and Clarke. Those at table pound their cups, and you and Lexa follow suit.

“Does this adventure suit you?” says Lexa in your ear.

You hold her gaze, consider, and nod.

Luna personally shows you to your cabin, tiny creases forming at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Lexa’s tent was larger. Lexa’s closet was larger. Your prison cell was larger. The racks, barely wide enough for one person, fold against the wall when not in use.

“Bunk beds,” you say, “very efficient.”

Luna keeps herself from laughing.

* * *

 

O walks Lincoln to his studio in the morning. Peace gives him the opportunity to draw. O, Clarke’s successor, trains the nightblood children in warriors’ ways, peace notwithstanding. 

Lincoln holds her hand longer than usual at the doorway. O, brought up short, turns and looks him in the eyes. Softness floods them. O lifts her eyebrows. 

“Whaaaat?” she teases.

“You,” he says, and his warmth flows into her.

“No, you.” She smiles. He pulls her close, leans his forehead against hers.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says.

“The kids—”

“Not forever, just for a little,” he says, “Ask Aden. He’ll let you go.”

* * *

 

Chloe, for that is how the amalgam of ALIE and Becca and the 3.0 code wishes to be called, goes to Ontari,  _ Inside _ . The two of them have been visiting regularly while Raven continues developing the nano that will allow Chloe a substantial presence  _ Outside _ . Ontari, folded on her bed  _ Inside _ , new, no longer a cot at the foot of the  _ Kwin’s _ bed, writhes in pain.

Chloe, standing, tips her head to the right, to the left.

“You may free yourself from pain here,” she says.

Ontari wails, rages, incoherent.

But the moment Chloe’s hand touches Ontari’s cheek, she stops, breathes, looks into those young-old eyes. Ontari’s hand snaps onto Chloe’s wrist. Fear flickers in Chloe’s eyes, even as she reminds herself that there is nothing to fear,  _ Inside _ , that fear shrinks us. Fear kills us from within. Fear does the job of a thousand warriors.

_ First, you breathe _ .

Chloe sits with Ontari, who trembles and sweats. But Chloe never takes her hand off Ontari’s cheek— never takes her eyes off Ontari’s.

Ever before, affection has brought with it consequences— undesirable consequences. Ontari’s skin pricks with apprehension. And yet, this woman, this robot, this creature of technology and guilt and yearning to right vast wrongs, this real and imaginary being pours affection, real feeling affection, into her through a small touch. And Ontari craves it. Despite everything her past is telling her, she soaks it in. She leans into Chloe’s touch.

And Chloe leans into her. ALIE never could touch anyone. Becca hasn’t allowed herself to touch or be touched for over a century. And Chloe, with all the memories of both, yearns to love and be loved, in whatever form may be available.

This Ontari, this girl, this woman, a killer, a survivor, traumatized, brutalized, scarred and scared, Ontari, amazingly, despite her neural pathways being aflame, gives back as much affection as Chloe gives her. Chloe goes slow, senses Ontari’s muscles give in, give over as Chloe’s touch softens. Ontari’s stillness and quiet relief spreads through the  _ Inside— _ and the  _ Outside _ , too. Polis sighs.

* * *

 

The blood has certainly worked miracles, but its repairs are not comprehensive. Raven experiences less pain now, but her leg isn’t fully functional on its own. In creating her own nano-brace, she has stumbled upon a possible solution to Chloe’s situation. ALIE was able to inhabit human bodies for short periods. Why couldn’t Chloe inhabit a nano-body? Fortunately for Raven, Chloe has the infinite patience of a machine and Becca’s compassion. More, Chloe has Raven’s compassion, Abby’s compassion. Chloe can wait.

Chloe nods to Raven,  _ Inside _ , turns and walks away, walks toward the raving, toward atonement.

* * *

 

Octavia reaches behind her and grasps Lincoln’s hand. He climbs up behind her onto the horse, and they ride out of Polis. 

“So long, Bitches!” she calls.

* * *

 

By Raven’s reckoning, they leave the Rover about a mile from the shore. From there she and Abby hike the narrow deer track through the brush leading to the dunes. 

As the brush opens up to beach, Abby grasps Raven’s wrist and stops.

“Shhh,” Abby whispers, “Look. Listen.”

Stars. The ocean lapping the shore. Ions thrown from the sea into the air. And stars, background becoming foreground, stars, their former constant backdrop, their prison, now at last an enveloping blanket, comforting, temporary, whose beauty wraps them up, singing. Their apparent stillness, their relentless motion throws off code, ellipses into ellipsis, atoms, molecules adrift, caught up in gravity, forever in each other’s orbit.

Abby catches Raven up in her own gravity, sliding her fingers around Raven’s waist, just under her shirt. Raven pulls Abby closer. Their lips meet. For a moment, they merge, just at the edges, just where their bodies meet. For a moment they bathe in the sensation created by their union  under the stars, and with the stars. For a moment, Raven’s constant tension, Abby’s constant tension simply absorbs into the surrounding firmament. For a moment they have peace.

Then,  _ Inside _ , “Mom? Raven?”

“Clarke?!” they say simultaneously. “Lexa?!”

* * *

 

Hoofbeats shake the beach as the skiff is prepared to depart. Luna’s warriors quicken, alert. Nocked arrows greet the riders.

“Stand down!” Lexa commands, out of habit. Luna’s warriors lower their bows, also out of habit.

Lexa approaches the riders, Clarke in her wake, pistol ready.

“Lincoln? O?”

Raven turns to Abby. Abby helps Raven out of the skiff, and they run-hop to them, drawn by their gravity, coalescing into their own cluster, arms around each other, heads together, one, united,  _ Inside _ and  _ Outside _ , one, and many, and one.

 


End file.
